


Between the Ribs

by Solrika



Series: Blackwatch Boys [15]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Pre-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrika/pseuds/Solrika
Summary: The Chilean base is Blackwatch's dirty underbelly, the place where interrogators are stationed, the place where prisoners go to die. Genji never expected to be assigned there.But here he is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for references to torture and blood, everyone.

It’s been a year and a half since Genji was cleared for active field duty, and in that time he’s flown around the world, been in pitched battle, gathered intel, and assassinated–-well. Being a Shimada teaches you not to keep count. 

It doesn’t stop a small shudder winding its way up his spine when he gets a transfer order to the Chilean base. Everyone knows–-nobody talks about–-that it’s where Blackwatch houses its interrogation unit. 

“Maybe it’s for guard duty,” Jesse suggests, when Genji shows him the papers. “Or they’ll send you on missions out of there.”

“Maybe,” Genji says. Curled up against Jesse’s warm bulk, he can almost believe it. 

The base is tucked away in the Andes, high and cold and dry. The view is beautiful, but there’s little time to enjoy it. Genji is hustled inside, into an elevator, and it’s disquieting how quickly the outside world drops away as soon as the doors seal shut. 

There are no echoing screams in the hallways, and it looks the same as any other Blackwatch base. The dragon is anxious under Genji’s skin, though, a low-level buzz that sets his teeth on edge, makes him want to thrash and bite. He keeps his steps calm and measured. He can’t keep his hands from fisting. 

“You can call me Jolene,” his superior says. “Everyone else does.” She looks him up and down, and Genji is grateful for the mask. “I haven’t been given very much about you. You have interrogation experience?”

“I’m not Blackwatch trained,” he says, the words sounding very far away. “Yakuza. I mostly watched.” 

Jolene hums to herself, a tune vaguely familiar. “You’ll be my assistant. You do what I tell you, you don’t speak.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Genji says, shutting his eyes. He takes in a breath. Another. Keeps himself from bolting. “I can do that.” The dragon writhes under his skin.

“Good.” She nods, dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “You arrived late, so we’ll get started tomorrow.”

Genji nods, and is glad he doesn’t have to eat breakfast anymore.

~

The bed seems very cold that night.

~

The next day, he does as told. He does not speak. He preps injections for Jolene and hands her scalpels and bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood when her victim is screaming. He can’t get queasy anymore, but he can imagine it, can call up the sick turn of his stomach on the fifth day as he scrubs and scrubs and still can’t erase the feeling of slick flesh under his hands. 

His lungs move on autopilot.

He sleeps in the cold bed and he drinks enough to stay hydrated and he breathes.

He does not speak and he does as told and he breathes.

The eleventh day, he starts shaking in the middle of an interrogation and can’t stop until Jolene sends him from the room. She finds him, later. Gives him a glass of water. Pats his shoulder, offers, “It gets easier.” 

Genji isn’t sure he wants it to.

He breathes.

The saving grace, he tells himself on the eighteenth day, is that the orders were not from Gabe. The name on the papers wasn’t familiar. No one he knows sent him here to do this, no one he knows is aware that he’s down here drawing a delicate line of blood along skin. 

He will only realize on the thirty-second day that it’s odd.

Genji’s strength is not interrogation. It is intel gathering, quick-clean assassinations, support on a battlefield. He has never shown an aptitude for the bone-deep detachment that Jolene shrugs on like a coat every morning. 

~

It takes him until the forty-third day to call Gabe.

He sits in his room and breathes and tries to ignore the tacky feeling of blood on his fingertips. When the screen crackles on, there’s the familiar walls of Gabe’s office and his little half-smile, and Genji almost wants to cry. 

He breathes. 

Straightens his back.

“I would like to be transferred back to field duty,” he begins. “I know I was assigned here but-–”

He’s interrupted. “Genji, what’s that on your armor?” Gabe is frowning now, that particular thoughtful furrow that means he’s spotted something out of place and is trying to figure out what’s wrong. 

Genji does not look. He can feel it, smell it, the rusty-iron obvious even under the mask. He just continues, “I know was assigned here, but this does not fit my talents and–-”

“Genji.” Gabe leans forwards, frown deepening. “Where is ‘here?’ Your files say that you’re on assignment in Switzerland.” 

Managing a little head shake, Genji replies, “No. Chile. I’m–-I was assigned to the interrogation unit.”

When Gabe explodes to his feet, it’s sudden enough to make the dragon thrash in surprise under Genji’s skin. “Fucking hijo de puta, I’ll _kill_ him,” he snarls, pacing back and forth behind his desk. “You gotta delegate, he says, well I’ll fucking end him–-how _dare_  they transfer you to interrogation-–”

For the first time in over a month, something in Genji begins to relax. “I’m not supposed to be here?”

Gabe comes to a stop, eyes softening again. “No. No, Genji. You were never supposed to have to do this.” 

Distantly aware he’s starting to tremble, Genji chokes out, “I can come home?” He breathes-–he-–breathe-–he–

he–

he–

“Oh, niño.” Gabe sinks into his seat, eyes warm and soft and gentle and it’s almost too much. Genji wants to cry, wants to climb into Gabe’s arms and cling like a child. “Yes, of course. I’m sending you a jet as soon as possible, okay?” 

he-–chokes on a sob, swallows it down, sobs again in relief and old terror rising suddenly to the surface. “You promise?” he manages, too desperate to be embarrassed of the tears in his voice. “I can come home?”

“Oh, Genji. Genjito. Yes, you’re coming home as soon as I can get you, and you’re going to stay with us.” Gabe reaches out as if he could pull Genji into a hug, and it’s not enough and too much and Genji can’t stop sobbing.

Gabe stays on the line until he can breathe again–-can breathe-–can breathe–

–-he sleeps one more night in the cold bed, and in the morning Gabriel himself is there stepping off the jet to enfold him in his arms. 

Genji goes with only a token protest, shuddering in relief at the first real human contact he’s had in weeks. Gabe murmurs soft words in Spanish as he herds them onto the plane. Genji, if he were a better man, would resist the tacit forgiveness in Gabriel’s gentleness–would tell Gabe all the things he’s done, would talk about syringes and scalpels and muscle warm and awful under his fingers–but he’s selfish, and weak, and folds himself against Gabriel’s side for the entire plane ride home.

Chile fades behind them, and Genji listens to Gabe talk–-about what Blackwatch has been up to, investigation into internal affairs, Jesse’s latest mission, assurances that he never has to leave his home bases again–-and lets himself be lulled. 

He’s a weapon back in trustworthy hands. From now on, he doesn’t have to worry about his kills being anything other than quick and clean and honorable–he doesn’t have to worry about being cast out for his sins in service of a higher power-–he’s safe. He’s… he’s clean.

He can breathe.

 

 

 

But he’s a Shimada, that little voice whispers, and maybe cruelty is in his blood.


End file.
